The following events occurred on July 13th, 1994: the world known massacre
of the Cuban tugboat "13 de Marzo" right in front of the Cuban coastline. On
that day seventy two men, women and children boarded a small tugboat with
the only intention of escaping to the United States of America. This tugboat
was followed by Castro's regime's coast guard boats for 45 minutes. The
refugee's tugboat began to be rammed by other government's tugboats until it
was sunk. This is the testimony of a mother who survived this tragedy: Maria
Victoria Garcia Suarez's testimony will be vividly exposed in the following
narration. On that day, Maria Victoria lost her husband, her ten year old
son, her brothers, three uncles and two cousins. Her heart wrenching
testimony reveals what happened to her small boy once they were thrown into
the ocean.
The following events occurred on July 13th, 1994: the world known massacre
of the Cuban tugboat "13 de Marzo" right in front of the Cuban coastline. On
that day seventy two men, women and children boarded a small tugboat with
the only intention of escaping to the United States of America. This tugboat
was followed by Castro's regime's coast guard boats for 45 minutes. The
refugee's tugboat began to be rammed by other government's tugboats until it
was sunk. This is the testimony of a mother who survived this tragedy: Maria
Victoria Garcia Suarez's testimony will be vividly exposed in the following
narration. On that day, Maria Victoria lost her husband, her ten year old
son, her brothers, three uncles and two cousins. Her heart wrenching
testimony reveals what happened to her small boy once they were thrown into
the ocean.
TESTIMONY OF A MOTHER WHO SURVIVED THE SINKING OF THE CUBAN TUGBOAT "13 DE
MARZO".
Maria Victoria Suarez, 30 years old. A mother who survived and who lost her
son in the Cuban tugboat "13 de Marzo".
I have to confess that, though we live together in the same house, I always
find it difficult to talk to my daughter about this matter. It is not
because she refuses to talk, but because we both experience and share a deep
anguish and emotional pain that impede an adequate flow in our conversation.
She describes to every detail the tragic moments she lived. She is able to
involve me in such a way that I also become another participant in this
horrible event. We are both emotionally drained at the end of our
conversation.
I have interviewed her twice since that tragic day. She always repeats the
same phrases. She wants to leave no doubt of the veracity of her words. She
is adding now a deeper richness to her story.
Malli, as she is known at home, does not know hatred or violence. Her
childhood was spent in an atmosphere of love and understanding. Precisely
because the lack of these negative ingredients in her life, the impact of
this horrible experience is enhanced and leaves a deep cut in her heart.
This very moving narration was given in one of the two rooms in my own home.
My son Jorge Felix and my nephew Ivan were also present.
"We took the bus as we carried a few bags with us. My group was formed by:
my son Juan Mario; my husband Ernesto; my brother Joel; my uncle and aunt
Eddy and Estrella; my cousins Eliecer and Omar; Maria Miralis and Xicdy,
Omar's wife and daughter. In addition to these family members, our group
was also formed by Armando Morales Piloto, a fried of Eddy; Julia Caridad
and her son Angel Rene and Yaltamira with Jose Carlos; Espiga also came with
our group. Lazaro Borges (Felo), my father's cousin and assigned driver,
his wife and daughter Liset and Giselle, and uncle Guillermo were already
in the bus when we boarded it. We left without knowing our final
destination.
We stopped after ten or fifteen minutes later. I thought of the police and
I removed the curtain from the bus window to take a look outside. We were
in Cojimar's circle, picking up another group. There were many people. We
continued the ride after greeting one another.
I left the window open to see where we were going. We were on the Via
Blanca (Highway) to Havana up to Paso Superior. Once we reached the street
light on Via Blanca and Fabrica, instead of turning left toward the Port of
Havana, we kept on going straight. Later on we entered the Benefica.
The bus engine was turned off, as if waiting for someone who had not yet
arrived, but hen, I realized that we were killing time. Felo was playing
Radio Reloj on the bus radio speakers. We were not there long. We left
right away. Two police officers greeted us as we exited. We drove by some
police patrols until we reached the cement factory. There, we turned left
at the Anillo and we soon reached our destination. The dock was a bit
beyond the Tallapiedra plant, across the street.
I woke up my son. He was asleep. We left the bus. Someone had left a
backpack behind. I picked it and returned it later on. Felo parked the bus
in the ramp, closed it and left the keys in the engine switch.
We boarded the tugboat, one person at at time, without making any noises. A
man was guiding us while saying: "Hang on tidely. Be careful not to slip.
Stay away from the engine. Go right... go left.... Stay close to the
walls."
My boy could not find answers to all the questions he had. We had planned
to go camping. The reality before his eyes was very different. He did not
tire from asking me: "Mommy, Mommy, where are we going?". I responded: "
For a walk, for a walk".
He started looking at me sideway, making upset noises with his mouth. He was
not happy. He was whining and repeating constantly: "Wow!...Look at that!".
I was asked to go outside to the upper deck. I left my husband, complaining
about this decision. He tried to hold me back. I asked him to follow me
but he decided to stay behind. There were other mothers and their children
together with me. We were only a few there on the upper deck. I found a
place by the stern of the boat, under the canvas that served as roof and we
hang on the pole that had a bell on its tip. I placed my child on a playpen
at the base of the pole.
We navigated for a while until my son started inquiring, while looking back,
about some lights in the distance: "Mommy, what is that light?". I looked
and I saw another boat following us. "Yes, son, it is another boat", I said,
without taking my eyes away from that direction. The child kept on
insisting... he was shaking and he was flapping his little hands...and his
eyes were jumping out of their sucket: "Mommy, Mommy, they are getting
closer!!!".
Someone upfront warned us that we were being followed. I felt we are were
going faster but those following us got ahead of us.
They started blasting us with jet of water from water hoses; they also
started ramming their tugboats against ours and pushing us from the side.
I shielded my son with my own body. I heard a woman screaming: "My son... my
son...!!!". A blast of water had taken her child from her arms.
We were exactly in the place where the Galeon anchors. There were people
watching everything that was happening from el Malecon (Bay of Havana'famous
promenade). I could not see ahead of me because of the lights in the other
tugboats were blinding us.
They aimed the water at me. I almost lost all of my clothes. They, the
shooters, seemed as if they were nailed to their backs and legs. Though my
son was soaked wet, he was not hurt. I was twisting left and right,
protecting him from the blasts with my own body as a human shield.
Poor little thing!... While pressing hard against my chest, he kept on
whispering: "Ay, Mommy, what is all this?... Please, God, save us!!!. I
encouraged him not to be afraid, to hold on a bit more... and that bad
things passed by rather quickly. But the blasting with water and the
ramming against the boat continued without stopping for a second.
Those who were near me escaped from the attack...some were brutally crushed
against the metals and wood planks of the tugboat. I was left by myself,
with my son, clenching to the pole. I was afraid to move and be thrown like
the rest. I decided to wait to see if they were going to grow tire first or
kill me first. I was giving my back to the stern of the boat while my son
was facing it. He warned me: "Careful, Mom, they are charging against us!".
I try to protect myself by pressing my body against my child and the pole.
The government tugboat was coming speeding against us like a shark ready to
swallow us. It fell on top of us breaking the boat in the back. It almost
crushed me against the pole. My son was trembling and crying: "We give
up...we give up...!".
Another man in our boat was yelling: "Jabao, Jabao, (someone's nickname in
the government boat) look...there are women and children. The murderer
responded with a mocking smirch on his face: "Was not this what you
wanted...There you have it...now, help yourselves or die!".
Our boat was sinking... I was desperate and I did not know what to do. I
picked my son and hold him in my arms. The poor thing...he was praying... he
was totally paralyzed by fear. He was biting his nails and seemed to know
what was about to happen. The water started climbing, or better said, we
started sinking. I told him: "Papi, climb on top of me...Now, wrap your legs
against my waist and hang on to my neck with your arms. Hang on tidely and
do not let go... take a deep breath and close your mouth". I was giving all
these instructions according to each worsening moment... and he was obeying.
"Yes, Mom" were his last spoken words with such a whimpering voice that I
could hardly hear it. Little by little we went down until the sea swallowed
us completely. I do not know when I went down and up again.I do not know
whether I died or else. It seems that I moved my legs rather rapidly and we
came afloat twice. My son continued embraced to me. Then, I called him:
"Joanmi, Joanmi..."... but he did not respond. He had lost all his strength
because he had swallowed a lot of salt water... he had fainted.
I stayed afloat, while moving my legs fastly. I looked around and grabbed
what it seemed to be a floating bulk or big package. It looked like a
raft... it was Rosa, already dead. I remember her screaming madly during
the attacks. I continued holding on to her, yelling for help. I was afraid
to stay long in these conditions and that my son could die. Other people
were also yelling for help... all I could see were their heads staying
afloat. The government boats that sunk us were encircling us with their
engines going full blast, forming a funnel around us. I could not endure
that situation for much longer. Then, I discovered a big box floating with
people crammed on top. I tried to reach it with my son still on top of me
and pushing Rosa's body away. I came as close as arm reach to the box. Some
of them extended their own arms to grab me and to shorten the distance. But,
at the moment that I let go of Rosa and I tried to grab their arms, I did it
with such force and desperation that they all came toppling on me. With all
this people on top and those in the back who were grabbing my legs trying to
save themselves, my son got untied from me and began to drift away. I
yelled in desperation: "Grab my child, help, he is going to drown!...", but
it was all useless. He got lost right in front of my eyes. It was so sad...
he had no strength to swim on his own... he had swallowed too much salt
water. Together with other people, I stayed clenching to the edge of the
box. The government tugboats would pull away everytime someone was ready to
reach them yelling for help. Finally, a government coast guard boat decided
to throw some lifesavers tide to ropes.
Author's Note:
The following names are the only survivors from Maria Victoria's original
group: Two cousins, Armando Morales Piloto and herself. The rest
disappeared in the sea.
The Cuban government did nothing to rescue the sunken vessel and did not
return the bodies to their relatives. It also lacked the political courage
to open a judicial process to try those responsible. Eight years later, the
authors of this crime, are still roaming, untouched, the streets in Cuba.
________________________________________________________
El 13 de Julio de 1994, ocurrió la mundialmente conocida MASACRE DEL
REMOLCADOR 13 DE MARZO frente a las costas cubanas por el régimen cubano.
Ese día setenta y dos hombres, mujeres y niños abordaron este pequeño barco
con el único propósito de escapar hacia los Estados Unidos. La embarcación
fué perseguida por la guardia costera castrista durante unos 45 minutos. No
fué hasta entonces que el gobierno cubano comenzó a embestir el barco
cargado de refugiados indefensos hasta provocar su fatídico hundimiento. El
testimonio de una madre sobreviviente a la tragedia: María Victoria García
Suárez será vívidamente expuesto a continuación. Ese día, María Victoria
perdió a su esposo, su hijo de 10 años, su hermano, tres tíos y dos primos.
Su testimonio desgarrador revela lo que le sucedió a su hijito una vez que
estaban en el agua.
TESTIMONIO DE UNA MADRE SOBREVIVIENTE AL HUNDIMIENTO DEL REMOLCADOR "13 DE
MARZO"
María Victoria García Suárez. 30 años de edad. Madre sobreviviente que
pierde a su hijo en el Remolcador 13 de Marzo.
Les confieso que aunque vivamos juntos, me resulta muy embarazoso conversar
con mi hija sobre este asunto. Y no es porque se niegue a hablar, sino que
ambos experimentamos sensaciones de dolor compartido que impiden una
adecuada fluidéz en la charla.
Ella describe con mucha exactitud los momentos trágicos vividos y logra
involucrarme como un protagonista más del suceso. Al final terminamos
desgastados.
Desde el fatídico día hasta hoy, van dos veces que la entrevisto. Y siempre
repite lo mismo, como para no dejar lugar a dudas sobre la veracidad de lo
expuesto. Ahora añade mayor riqueza a sus argumentos.
Malli, como suele llamársele en la casa, no conoce el odio ni la violencia.
Su niñez transcurre dentro de una atmósfera de amor y comprensión.
Precisamente por la falta de ingredientes de crudeza en ella, se multiplica
el impacto de esta amarga experiencia y le abre un enorme surco de dolor en
su corazón.
Este conmovedor relato lo obtuve una tarde en una de las dos habitaciones de
mi casa. Estaban presentes también, mi hijo Jorge Félix e Iván el sobrino.
"Con los matules al hombro cogimos la guagua. Mi grupo lo componen: Juan
Mario mi hijo, Ernesto mi esposo, Joel mi hermano, Eddy y Estrella mis tíos,
Eliecer y Omar mis primos, María Miralis y Xicdy esposa e hija de Omar.
Además, Armando Morales Piloto amigo de Eddy, Julia Caridad y su hijo Angel
René, y Yaltamira con José Carlos; se agregó Espiga. Dentro de la guagua ya
venían Lázaro Borges (Felo) chofer y primo de mi papá, su esposa Lisset y la
hija Giselle, y Guillermo el tío. Arrancamos sin saber a donde.
Diez o quince minutos después, paramos. Pensé en la policía y corrí la
cortina de la ventanilla a un lado para ver. Estábamos en la rotonda de
Cojimar recogiendo otro grupo. Eran bastante. Luego de saludarnos,
continuamos.
Dejé abierta la cortina para curiosear. Ibamos por todo Via Blanca rumbo a
la Habana hasta el Paso Superior. Al llegar al semáforo de Vía Blanca y
Fábrica, en vez de doblar a la derecha para el puerto, continuamos recto y
más adelante entramos en la Benéfica.
En el parqueo se apagó el motor; como esperando por alquien que no estaba
pero me doy cuenta que hacíamos tiempo. Felo tenía puesto Radio Reloj por el
altavoz.
No demoramos tanto, partimos enseguida. Dos policías nos saludaron a la
salida. Bordeamos a patrullas hasta frente a la fábrica de cementos. Allí,
doblamos a la izquierda en el Anillo y pronto llegamos al punto. El muelle
queda un poco más allá de la planta de Tallapiedra, en la acera de enfrente.
Desperté al niño; estaba dormidito y nos bajamos. Alguno dejó olvidada una
mochila en el piso. La recogí y entregué después. Felo mete la guagua en la
rampa, la cierra y deja puestas las llaves en el chucho.
Entramos en el remolcador, uno tras otro y sin hacer bulla. Un hombre nos
guía diciendo: Sujétense bien. Cuidado no resbalen. Aléjense del motor. Por
la derecha; por la izquierda. Péguense a las paredes del casco.
El niño a mi lado no hallaba respuestas a sus inquietudes. Quedamos en ir a
un Campismo y la realidad ante sus ojitos es otra. Por eso no se cansa de
preguntar: "Mamá, a donde vamos?
Y yo le repito: a pasear... a pasear, entonces me empina la mirada de lado y
hace shis, shis, como si friera huevos. No está conforme, refunfuña y
repite: contrá... oyemé...
Subí a la cubierta bajo protesta de mi esposo cuando me lo pidieron.Abajo,
él trató de sujetarme, pero le dije: sígueme y no lo hizo. Conmigo habían
otras madres con sus hijos, éramos pocos allí.
Me acomodo por la parte de popa debajo del toldo que sirve de techo y nos
sujetamos del palo que tiene la campanita arriba. El niño lo meto dentro de
un corralito en la misma base del palo. Navegamos un rato y es cuando el
niño me pregunta, mirando hacia atrás: Mamá, que es esa luz? Entonces yo
miro y compruebo que otro barco nos sigue. Si mi hijo, es otro barco, le
dije sin quitar mi vista de esa dirección.
El niño continúa insistiendo. Sacude sus manitas y los ojitos parecen
desorbitárseles: Mamá, mamá, se acerca...!
Alguien desde alante avisa que somos perseguidos, y siento que vamos más
deprisa pero los de atrás se nos adelantan. Comienzan a tirar chorros de
agua y nos empujan duro por el costado. Trato de cubrir con mi cuerpo el del
niño. Escucho los gritos de una mujer aterrorizada: Mi hijo..., mi hijo...!
Parece como si un chorro de esos le arranca el niño de entre los brazos.
Estábamos ahí mismitico donde atraca el Galeón. La gente en el Malecón lo
vieron todo. No podía mirar bien de frente, porque las luces que alumbran
encandila la vista.
Apuntan los chorros sobre mí y casi quedo desnuda. Parecían hincados de
clavos sobre las espaldas y los muslos; pero el niño aunque estaba
empapadito, no fué castigado. Me viraba de un lado para otro y le servía de
escudo. Pobrecito!, apretado contra mi pecho me decía bajito: Ay mamita, que
es ésto... Dios mío sálvanos...! Yo le daba aliento diciéndole que no
tuviera miedo; que resistiera un poquito... que lo malo pasaba pronto. Pero
seguían y seguían los chorros y los golpes.
Los que estaban cerca de mi huyeron de los ataques, algunos fueron lanzados
brutalmente contra los hierros y maderas. Quedé sola con mi hijo aguantada
del palo; temía moverme y ser lanzada también. No tuve más remedio que
esperar que se cansaran o nos mataran.
Yo estaba de espaldas a la popa, y el niño me advierte: Cuidado mamá, viene
pa'arriba de nosotros! trato de portegerme apretándome contra el niño y el
palo. Aquello parecía un tiburón que venía a tragarnos. Llegó arriba de
nosotros hasta que se monta encima y parte el barco por atrás. poco faltó
para que me exprimiera contra el palo. El niño grita temblando y lloroso:
Nos rendimos, nos rendimos...
Otro hombre llama: Jabao.. Jabao, déjanos ya... mira que hay mujeres y
niños...
Y el asesino respondió burlón: Eso no era lo que ustedes querían? Ahí
tienen, ahora arréglenselas como puedan o muéranse!
Nuestro barco se hundía y yo desesperada no hallaba que hacer. Cogí al niño
y lo cargué. Pobrecito, rezaba, estaba como espantado. Se comía las uñitas y
presentía lo malo.
El agua comenzó a subir, mejor dicho, nosotros a bajar. Le dije al niño:
Papi, sal del corralito y encarámate sobre mí. Ahora abraza tus piernecitas
por mi cintura y sujétate de mi cuello con tus bracitos... apriétame fuerte
y no me sueltes... coge aire bastante y cierra tu boquita. Todo se lo fuí
diciendo en la medida que la situación se iba agravando, y él obedece.
-Si mamá, fueron sus últimas palabras con una vocecita que casi no se oía.
Poco a poco fuímos bajando hasta que el mar nos traga completos. No sé
cuando bajé ni como subí. No se si morí o volví a vivir. Parece que moví
rápido las piernas y salimos a flote por dos veces. El niño seguía abrazado
como dormido. Entonces lo llamo: Joanmi, Joanmi, pero no me respondía. Había
perdido todas sus fuerzas por el agua tragada, estaba como desmadejadito.
Me mantengo a flote moviendo rápido las piernas. Miro alrededor y me aguanto
de un bulto flotante; parecía una balsa, pero era Rosa ya muerta. Recuerdo
sus gritos de locura durante los ataques. Sigo aguantada de ella y pido
auxilio; temía demorarme y que el niño se muriera. Otras personas a las que
nada más se le veían las cabecitas, también gritaban. Y aquellos barcos que
nos hundieron, daban vueltas formando un remolino; no podía mantenerme así
por mucho tiempo. Entonces descubro una caja flotando con un grupo de
personas encaramadas. Trato de alcanzarla con el niño a cuestas y empujando
a Rosa. Me acerco a la distancia del brazo. Algunos me tienden los suyos
para acortar el tramo; pero al soltarme de rosa para agarrarme de la gente,
lo hago con tanta fuerza y desesperoque todos me vinieron encima. Entre
éstos y los de atrás que me agarraban las piernas para salvarse también, se
desprende el niño y se me vá. Grité desesperada: Cójanme al niño, auxilio se
me ahoga!, pero nada, todo fué inútil. Se perdió ante mis ojos, y lo más
triste, no tenía fuerzas para nadar solito, había tragado mucha agua.
Junto a otros, permanecí sujeta al borde de la caja. Los remolcadores
retrocedían cuando alguno trataba de darle alcance buscando socorro. Por fin
unas lanchas de Guardafronteras tiraron salvavidas amarrados a sogas.
Nota del autor:
De las personas que componen inicialmente el grupo de María Victoria sólo se
salvan: Dos primos, Armando Morales Piloto y ella. El resto desaparece.
El gobierno cubano no hizo gestión alguna a favor de rescatar la embarcación
hundida; tampoco entregó a sus familiares los cadáveres de las víctimas. Ni
tuvo coraje político en abrir un proceso judicial para condenar a los
culpables.
A ocho años de esta masacre, los autores de este crimen, todavía pululan
indemnes por las calles de Cuba.
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